The Language of Madness
by Rachel Hawkins
Summary: Chapter 7 is up. Abby races for the hospital when she learns Joyce has been assaulted again. Takes place after "A Simple Twist of Fate."
1. My Biggest Mistake

Chapter One - My Biggest Mistake  
  
Abby paused outside the door, looking through the glass inset at the people inside. She didn't know why she was here. It was beyond stupid, being out on the street alone, when Brian hadn't been caught yet. She should have taken Susan up on her offer to sleep on her sofa. She should have asked one of the other nurses if she could stay with them for the night. Hell, she should have crashed on the couch in the lounge. Instead she was here, standing on the street in pale blue scrubs and a jacket she'd borrowed from Susan, holding a five dollar bill she'd found in her locker.  
  
She looked down at her shoes, at the money in her hand, then back at the door again. She squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden rush of tears. And she pushed the door open and stepped inside.  
  
She stood just inside the door, looking around at the activity. At just after midnight it was still buzzing. The space wasn't overly large, but there was a crowd. There was a cluster of tables scattered off to one side, mostly filled with small groups, and a few couples dancing on the small rectangle of linoleum in front of the windows. Half of the stools along the other side of the room were filled, and with a deep breath of inevitability, she crossed the room and slid onto one of the empty ones.  
  
Taking care to comb her hair over her swollen eye, she leaned forward and scanned the dozens of bottles lined up on the shelves in front of her. Some she recognized, some she didn't. Once upon a time she'd been acquainted with several of them.  
  
"What'll it be?"  
  
She looked up at the bartender. Gruff and gray-haired, he didn't look the sort for conversation. Not the friendly sort who liked to listen to his patrons pour their hearts out. Good. That's not what she'd come here for. She'd come here for empty comfort and faded memories. For long moments the words lodged in her throat, emotions threatening to overcome her. She swallowed hard. "Draft, please."  
  
A moment later the mug was in front of her and the bartender had moved on. She nudged the glass with her finger, spreading condensation on the shiny wood counter. She shouldn't be here, not with this or any other glass in her hands. She shouldn't be here in the first place. She should be some place safe. Not here, alone, near-broke and vulnerable.  
  
A few hours ago she'd been in her apartment, waiting for her pizza to be delivered and trying to reassure Joyce that everything was going to be okay. The woman was on shaky footing, not sure she'd made the right decision by leaving Brian, but at least they'd gotten her into the shelter. They'd gotten her help. Abby could only cross her fingers that they'd really gotten through to her, and that she'd stay in the shelter until she could get back on her feet on her own.  
  
She brought the mug to her lips, then set it back down without drinking. Shaking her head, she turned slightly and looked out at the room. The foosball table was there, in the same place it had been before. The night she and Luka came here for their first date. She'd had a blast here that night, and even then she'd started to feel something grow between them, something hard to define, but deeper and more meaningful than simple friendship. They were kindred spirits, lost souls who desperately wanted to connect with someone but had forgotten how.  
  
When the paramedics had brought her in tonight, he'd been right there in the ambulance bay, not quite able to hide the frightened, anxious look on his face. She'd watched his lips tighten as he noted the blood and the swelling, and his attempt at a reassuring smile when he'd caught her looking at him. She hadn't wanted him to see her like that. Not broken and battered, alone and scared. She didn't want him to see her weak. How could he ever want her again if she was weak?  
  
God, she'd never been so scared in her life. Back in the ER, with Joyce only a few feet away, she'd turned around and Brian was there, in her space, demanding, menacing. The look he got in his eyes---like he wouldn't think twice about doing her harm to get what he wanted---had truly frightened her. She believed he would have tried to put his hands on her right then and there if Luka hadn't come out of the exam room at the moment he had.  
  
Her hands trembling slightly, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. No man had ever wanted to do her physical harm before. When she'd fought with Richard the last shaky months of their marriage, it had always been verbal. She treated victims of domestic violence all the time, but she'd never been a target before. It was more than a little unsettling to know she's been the focus of Brian's anger. That she might still be if he saw her again.  
  
She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When she'd opened the door for the delivery guy and seen Brian's face, her mind had been momentarily paralyzed. She'd pictured Joyce, bloody, freezing out on the steps in front of the building. She'd pictured the woman's terrified, deer- in-the-headlights gaze as she'd begged Abby to let her stay the night before.  
  
Abby had made him leave, but not before she'd seen fury flare deep in his eyes at her refusal to give him Joyce's location. The knock had come seconds after she'd shut him out, and the biggest mistake of her life had been releasing the deadbolt.  
  
She choked on a derisive laugh. She'd never claimed to be a genius, but why the hell had she opened the door?  
  
A tear leaked out of her eye and down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently and took another sip. She felt so damn alone right now---alone and lost and scared. But the thing of it was, she had no one to blame but herself. She didn't let people in. If they tried, she just pushed them away. The end result was that she was left alone, which normally suited her just fine. If no one was counting on her, then she couldn't disappoint anyone. Right now though she regretted that stance. Because what she needed more than anything was someone to lean on. Just for a little while, she wanted someone to hold her, to ease the coiled tension inside her.  
  
Exhaustion dragged at her, but she kept her eyes open. She scanned the room, searching for something, anything, to hold her focus and keep the nightmare at bay. Because every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Shooting daggers at her through the cracked-open door. Charging at her. Fist hitting her.  
  
"Asshole," she muttered head bent low over her mug.  
  
The sound of the door smashing open, of the chain being ripped from its mooring, had reminded her of the report from a high-powered rifle. Jarring, deafening. Her heart had leapt into her throat, adrenaline surging in a dizzying wave, during the short eternity it took him to cross her threshold.  
  
She choked back a sound of distress. She clutched her hands together and tried to get the shaking to stop. She couldn't stop seeing it. Brian coming at her, rage in his eyes, seeming bigger than she remembered. His fist shooting out, striking before she had a chance to react. Blinding pain a few seconds before she hit the ground and lost consciousness.  
  
She felt tears coming again. Oh God, she thought. She was going to lose it. She had to get out of here before she made a complete fool of herself. But where could she go?  
  
She turned to look at the door, but light reflecting from inside made it impossible to see outside. For all she knew, Brian was standing out there right now, just waiting for her to leave. Waiting for his chance to start round two. Her breath caught suddenly, and she dropped her head against a sudden wave of dizziness. She was so stupid. How could she have come here when he was still on the street?  
  
She took another sip, a longer sip, just to calm her nerves.  
  
She pulled out her five dollar bill and looked at it, then at the payphone across the room. She looked down at her mug, then back at the door. Well, there was no way she was going out there alone. Not now, not with the image of Brian waiting for her fresh in her mind. She was going to have to call someone. Her eyes slid shut. The weight of embarrassment settled on her shoulders. She didn't want to imagine the look on her rescuer's face when they realized what she'd done. But she saw no other options. She saw no other way out.  
  
She hailed the bartender, who took her bill and made change. He shot her a dirty look, probably expecting her not to leave a tip, but she ignored him. She slid slowly from the stool, clutching two quarters in her palm, and wove her way between the other patrons. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, shaking her head as she inserted her money. "Shit," she muttered.  
  
She dialed the number from memory and waited. And waited. "Come on, come on," she whispered, desperation creeping in as the ringing continued. "Please pick up."  
  
She waited ten rings, then fifteen. There was no answer. 


	2. Lost Souls

Chapter Two - Lost Souls  
  
Luka stormed from the Windbreaker, the bar's other patrons parting in the wake of his fury. He stepped outside and the frigid night air assaulted him like the fists he'd just delivered. He lifted his hand, his lips tightening. Two of his knuckles were bleeding, the others bruised. He brushed the blood away and stalked down the street, his anger lending length and speed to his steps.  
  
Had he ever been this angry? If so, it was impossible to remember when.  
  
The day had started out normal, or at least as normal as it could get when you worked in a busy emergency room. He'd returned to Chicago after an interminably long but uneventful flight, and as soon as he was through his door he'd crashed on the couch. A few short hours later he'd picked up the phone and answered Kerry's plea to come in and help.  
  
He'd been glad to get there and see Abby. There was a piece of his heart only she could fill, and even though they weren't together anymore, being near her helped ease the lonely ache inside him. Their breakup hadn't erased his feelings for her; he wanted her back, wanted a second chance, he just didn't know how to make it happen. He didn't know how to make up for everything that had gone wrong.  
  
He'd seen a new side of her today with Joyce. The gentle, compassionate nurse had been there, but she'd been joined by another Abby. This new side of her was tough, determined. She'd steamrolled through Joyce's fearful reluctance and made the woman see how dangerous it was to remain in a relationship with a violent man like Brian. And then, when she had Joyce's attention, she gentled her voice and stayed at her side until a counselor came from the shelter to give her a ride.  
  
His respect for Abby had grown immensely that afternoon. He'd seen her in a new light, and he'd wanted her all the more after seeing that protective side.  
  
She'd gone home after Joyce left for the shelter, and he'd thought everything was fine. Until they got the call that stopped his heart.  
  
Abby. Assaulted. Loss of consciousness. Paramedics on the way.  
  
His world had narrowed to those few quick, disturbing words. He dropped all pretense of seeing other patients and hurried to the ambulance bay. The ten minutes it took the ambulance to arrive were some of the most nerve- racking of his life. He'd paced back and forth, wringing his hands and muttering Croatian curses under his breath. He hadn't been able to stop the furious flow of questions through his mind. What exactly had happened? When? Where? Who had done it? How badly was she hurt? Was she going to be okay?  
  
She has to be okay, he'd repeated over and over again.  
  
His heart had stuttered when he heard the ambulance's siren down the street. He'd wanted to chase the ambulance down, rip the door open, and pull her into his arms. But that wouldn't help her. He needed to remain calm so he didn't upset her further. So he schooled his face into a blank mask when the ambulance pulled up and the doors opened.  
  
He could scarcely breathe when they lifted the gurney out and he got his first look at her. She was wearing that silky robe that she loved, but it was splattered with blood. Her face was a mass of bruises, her eye swollen halfway shut. Seeing her that way had broken his heart, and at the same time had filled him with a tidal wave of anger. How dare someone put their hands on her?  
  
She endured the exam stoically, her eyes meeting his several times but always sliding away. She'd seemed small and vulnerable, and he'd hated that he couldn't take her in his arms and comfort her. He hated even more that he hadn't been able to protect her.  
  
And then Susan had said it. Rape. Such an ugly, despicable word. Something inside him had snapped at the thought that Abby had suffered it. Not her. Not Abby. He'd gone cold, his heart freezing in his chest, anger stealing into his veins. No one touched her, no one put that fear in her, especially not someone who harmed defenseless women and dared call himself a man.  
  
If he thought waiting for the ambulance to get there was nerve-racking, it was unbearable pacing around the hall while Susan did the exam. Seeing Abby like that-bruised, battered, in pain-had brought to mind the atrocities he'd witnessed during the war. It made him remember Danjiela during those endless moments after the bomb, and the emptiness he'd felt at his inability to protect the woman he loved.  
  
It was happening again. He'd failed again. After Danjiela, he'd never expected to find another woman to love. But he'd found Abby, and he'd vowed to protect her. He'd failed.  
  
He'd tried to act casual when Susan had emerged from the exam room. He didn't want her to know the direction of his thoughts. He didn't want her to guess his intentions. Once he'd been assured she hadn't been touched other than being punched in the face, he'd begged off and left the hospital, Abby's earlier words ringing in his ears.  
  
A bar down the street...Windbreaker...Fourth and Ashland...  
  
Now, he found himself wandering the streets, no idea of what to do next. He supposed he should go home and ice his hand, but then what? Sit around worrying, wondering if Abby was okay? No thanks, he thought with a grunt of annoyance. Go get a drink maybe? The idea didn't hold as much appeal as it might have, had he not been so worried about her.  
  
He stopped suddenly, shaking his head and glancing back in the direction he'd come from. Who was he kidding? What he really wanted was to be with Abby. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her and assure her she was going to be okay. That Brian would never come near her again.  
  
He flexed his fingers, wincing a little. They'd already started getting stiff. He really should ice them. He wouldn't be able to do his job properly if his fingers were too stiff and painful to use. So, maybe he'd make a compromise with himself; he'd go home, ice his hand, then he'd call the hospital and talk to Abby. He wasn't sure what he'd say, but he thought hearing her voice would help ease his mind.  
  
Fifteen minutes later he pulled an ice pack from his freezer and laid it over his knuckles. He slumped down on his couch and picked up his phone. He dialed the ER and rolled his eyes at Susan's weary greeting. "You're answering phones now, too?" he asked.  
  
He heard Susan sigh. "Jerry ate one of those stupid bagels, and you only get to judge me if you come back in and see some more patients."  
  
"Sorry, I'm done for the day. I just called to talk to Abby for a minute."  
  
"She left already."  
  
The ice pack slid to the floor. Luka shot from the couch, the phone clutched tightly in his hand. "What do you mean, she left?"  
  
"She changed into some scrubs and walked out the door."  
  
"How could you let her leave?" he all but shouted. "It's not safe for her to be out there alone."  
  
"Look, I offered to let her sleep on my couch, but she turned me down. She said she had a friend she could stay with for the night."  
  
"Damn it," he muttered. If he knew anything about Abby, it was that she hated asking for help. She was stubborn and proud, and she much preferred to handle things on her own. "Why didn't you make her wait until her friend showed up? Why did you let her leave by herself? Why didn't you at least get her friend's name?"  
  
"Just hold on," Susan said. "I offered her a place to stay, but she turned me down. She's a grown woman. I couldn't force her to stay."  
  
Luka knew she was right, but he was scared. He didn't want her out there alone, even after his confrontation with Brian. So soon after something as traumatic as her assault, she should have someone with her. Back at the hospital, he'd seen her stubbornly fighting back tears. She needed someone to lean on right now, whether she admitted it or not, and he was going to be that person. He just had to find her.  
  
"Okay, okay," he said. "Listen, if she happens to call there, find out where she is and call me on my cell phone."  
  
"Is everything all right?" Susan asked.  
  
"I just want to make sure she's okay. Call me if you hear from her."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Luka hung up the phone and scrubbed a hand over his face. She was fine, he told himself. Nothing was wrong. Brian wouldn't dare come after her again. But she was still out there somewhere, and he wouldn't be able to rest until he found her and saw for himself that she was okay.  
  
He scooped up his keys and hurried from his apartment, never noticing the steadily blinking red light of his answering machine. 


	3. Search and Rescue

The Language of Madness Chapter Three  
  
Abby slumped on the bench, her head lolling against the wall. She'd handed her stool over to a late-night bar junkie and taken up residence on a bench a few feet away. She held her jacket close to her body, trying to ward off the chills that threatened.  
  
A young couple took their places at the foosball table. They both looked happy and carefree, and an irrational part of her mind wanted to yell at them to leave. That table was theirs-hers and Luka's-and no one else was allowed to touch it. The table was part of one of her most cherished memories, and she wanted it all to herself.  
  
She closed her eyes. She'd tried calling him half an hour ago, though it seemed closer to three hours had passed. His answering machine had picked up after an eternity, and she'd been ashamed of the pleading tone she heard in her voice as she asked him to pick her up. She only hoped he got home and got the message before the bar closed and she was forced to go outside alone.  
  
If he judged her for her stupidity in coming here, he'd keep it to himself. He wouldn't berate her. She imagined his top concern would be getting her out of there and making sure she was all right. She could picture him kneeling in front of her, touching her gently, concern naked in those expressive eyes. She imagined him wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her close to his side, and she wanted that with a fierceness that surprised her. She'd always felt safe with him; she'd learned a long time ago that he would go to any length to keep her safe.  
  
She looked back at the couple at the foosball table, and she felt the weight of loneliness settle on her shoulders. She was no stranger to being alone; most of her life she'd felt that way. When she was a little girl, she hadn't been able to connect with her mother the way most young girls did. Once her father hit the road, she'd had to mature quickly, often becoming the caretaker for both Eric and Maggie. At the same time she'd watch the other kids in the neighborhood, mourning that she couldn't join them. She'd see them laughing, running through their yards, playing ball, chasing after each other, none of them aware of the little girl by the window, who only wanted the chance to be a part of their fun.  
  
By the time she became a teenager, she'd learned not to form close attachments. She'd wearily accepted that her mother would never be completely well, and every time she tried to become more than just casual friends with someone, something went wrong and she had to leave to take care of her family. So for the most part her friends were left behind at the end of school each day, and her family had taken such an emotional toll on her that she closed the door of her heart against intruders.  
  
Even as an adult, out from under her mother's roof but never free from her familial obligations, she hadn't opened the door again. Not completely, not to anyone, even her husband. Hindsight had led her to the conclusion that her marriage to Richard had been doomed from the start, because when she'd met him as a young nursing student, she'd been bitter and disillusioned from her mother's repeated outbursts. She'd just been so damned tired. She'd hoped, in a secret corner of her heart, that her marriage would give her distance from her mother. But Maggie's near meltdown the morning of the wedding had dispelled that notion for good.  
  
So she closed herself away, never really giving their marriage a chance. Never giving Richard a chance to prove her assumptions wrong. And when the divorce was final, she'd been more relieved than anything. She didn't have to try anymore. She didn't have to pretend everything was okay. She no longer had to endure Richard's eye rolls and long-suffering sighs when Maggie pulled something new.  
  
After the marriage fell apart, she told herself it would be a long time-if ever-before she got involved in another serious relationship. It hadn't been so long though before Luka came along, and he'd found his way into her heart before she realized what had happened. During her months as a med student, she'd felt like a teenager with a crush whenever she was around him, and only a few months later their relationship had grown and deepened into a strange mix of passion and emotional distance. Their feelings for each other had blossomed quickly, and each, frightened of the intensity for their own reasons, had responded by pulling away, refusing to talk about the pain behind their withdrawals.  
  
It was only after they'd broken up, when she'd seen him fumbling through his misguided relationship with Nicole, that she'd realized what a mistake she'd made. Carter had accused her of not being over Luka, and it was true. She'd denied it to him, but her heart had called her a liar. She wasn't over Luka, and she didn't want to be.  
  
She shook her head and pulled her gaze from the foosball table. Calling herself a sentimental fool, she looked toward the door and whispered his name.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Luka was frantic. He was running out of places to look for her. He'd tried her apartment, but there was no sign of her. He'd tried Doc Magoo's, and several other restaurants and bars near the hospital. He'd stopped by the hospital, on the off chance she'd gone back. He'd even called Susan at home, just in case Abby had changed her mind about Susan's couch. She hadn't.  
  
He was to the point now of trying to remember every place they'd been together, in case she'd gone somewhere familiar. "Where are you, Abby?" he murmured under his breath, raking his fingers through his hair.  
  
He was almost desperate enough to call Carter.  
  
Carter, who'd been a thorn in his relationship with Abby almost from the start. He wasn't a bad person, but Luka had always resented his presence in his relationship with Abby. She'd always gone to Carter with her problems, and Luka had never really understood why. He'd done his best to be there for her, but she'd rarely turned to him.  
  
He drove down the road, shaking his head, calling himself a liar. There'd been points when he'd been too wrapped up in his own pain to give hers a second thought. After he killed the mugger, it had taken a long time to get his head totally straight again, and by that time Abby's mother had come and disappeared. He hadn't been there for her like he should have been, hadn't realized just how deeply the entire situation hurt her.  
  
He'd done it again with Bishop Stewart. Treating the ailing bishop had dug up the sorrow and anguish he felt at the loss of his family, and this time, when she tried to be there for him, he hadn't let her. He remembered vividly the day the bishop finally passed on. After returning from the scene of the train wreck, he'd gone up to see the bishop. Abby had caught up to him and tried to talk, but he'd pushed aside her questions and let the elevator door quietly slide shut between them.  
  
He'd laid his soul bare at the bishop's death bed, and the cleansing had been agony, but it had been necessary. The weight of guilt had begun to ease from his shoulders, and he'd felt a measure of true peace for the first time since the deaths of his family.  
  
He took a deep breath and continued on. There were only two more places he could think to check; a small Italian restaurant they'd visited several times, and the bar where they'd had their first date. He wondered if she'd even remember the bar, and decided it wasn't a very likely choice. Then he glanced at his watch and realized that it was after one o'clock, and the restaurant would long be closed by now.  
  
He cursed under his breath. How could he have expected to find her? Chicago was a huge city, and she could be anywhere.  
  
He made an illegal U-turn as he came to a decision. He was going to check her apartment one more time, then he was going to check the bar. And if she wasn't in either place, he was going to call the police. He couldn't take the idea she was out there alone any longer.  
  
He convinced the super of her building to unlock her apartment door, but there was no sign she'd been there. There was a blood-stained towel on her bathroom counter, and a pizza was getting stale on her coffee table. He tossed the pizza in the trash and made sure the super locked the door behind him, then climbed back in his car and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He'd been hoping she was curled up in bed asleep, and just hadn't heard him knock the first time.  
  
When he got to the bar, he had to park a block and a half down. He climbed out of his car, and his steps were heavy as he approached the door. He remembered the first time they'd come here, and he wished fiercely that they could turn back time and have that night back. It had started so perfectly, he could have gladly stayed there forever.  
  
He approached the building, and when he looked through the door's glass inset at the activity inside, his heart stuttered to a stop. "Abby." 


	4. Safe in His Arms

Chapter Four: Safe in His Arms  
  
Luka pushed the door open and shouldered his way past a group of departing patrons. He ignored their protests, charging forward, then dropping to his knees in front of her. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped back against the wall. He took her hand and held it between his own. "Abby?" he murmured.  
  
Abby blinked rapidly, then lifted her head. Her eyes connected with Luka's, and she felt a surge of relief so great it stole her breath. "Luka," she whispered.  
  
He reached out, briskly rubbing her arms up and down, hoping to infuse a little warmth. She looked chilled to the bone.  
  
"You got my message," she said.  
  
"What message?" he asked with a slight frown.  
  
"On your answering machine. I...asked if you could come here and pick me up when you got home."  
  
Luka groaned inwardly. He'd been so distracted when he'd stopped by his apartment that he hadn't even thought to check his messages. He could have found her sooner. He could have gotten her out of here sooner.  
  
But at least he was here now. He could take care of her now. "Come with me," he said, gently placing his arm around her shoulders. "I'll take you home now."  
  
She stood up when he urged her to but said, "I don't want to go home. I...can't go there now. Not when I don't know where Brian is."  
  
"He's never going to hurt you again," Luka said urgently, his intense gaze meeting hers. "I promise you that." Keeping his arm around her, he walked her out of the bar and toward his car.  
  
Abby hugged her arms close to her body, glancing around nervously as they walked down the sidewalk. She couldn't help but wonder if Brian was lurking in a dark corner, waiting for a second chance with her. She closed her eyes, and again she saw the fist coming at her. It had all happened so fast, but she remembered the sharp burst of pain as his knuckles crashed into her face. Now, hours later, her eye still throbbed every time she thought about it. She could still feel the sharp jolt of pain as she connected with the floor, and she could still see the blackness enveloping her vision.  
  
She burrowed down into the seat and closed her eyes. She didn't pay any attention to where Luka was taking her. She didn't really care, as long as it was away from Brian. Because she felt safe with Luka. Maybe, she thought dimly, Luka was the only one she'd ever felt safe with.  
  
"Abby?"  
  
She opened her eyes some time later and realized they'd stopped. "Your apartment," she murmured with a glance out her window.  
  
"You'll be safe here," Luka told her. "You can get some rest, and you won't have to worry about anything else."  
  
In a daze, she let Luka help her from the car and up the stairs to his apartment. She stood quietly as he unlocked the door and held it open for her, but when she walked across his threshold she sucked in a quiet breath. In the bar, and on the drive over here, she'd been able to drift. The future, their destination had been a hazy thing in her mind, not something she had to deal with immediately. But now that she was here in Luka's living room, the whole situation was suddenly very real. She hadn't been in his apartment in months. Not since the week after their ugly, nightmarish breakup. But now here she was, alone with him, hurt, vulnerable.  
  
She was a little afraid that if she stayed here long enough, she would end up saying things to him that she would regret later. Things like 'It was all my fault' or 'Please take me back.' Those things and more flitted through her mind as she snuck a covert glance at him through the eye that wasn't swollen almost shut. He slipped his coat off his shoulders, and she realized again just how big he was. She'd always felt so good wrapped up in his arms, tucked against his heart. She'd felt happy there, she just hadn't been able to say that to him.  
  
She took off her own coat and sat on the couch. She clapped her hands together and blew out a breath. Now that she was here, now that she was safe, she didn't know what to do. She wished she could just go to sleep, but she knew that with sleep would come nightmares, and she didn't want that. Not here, not in front of Luka. She didn't want him to see her vulnerable that way. Alone, frightened and disoriented—that was something she could do without.  
  
"I'll make you some coffee," Luka said.  
  
She nodded, though she had no desire for coffee. She watched him walk over to the counter, then closed her eyes and curled into the end of the couch. She hugged her sides and leaned her head back. She wanted to forget. She wanted to pretend none of it had happened. That she'd never met Brian and Joyce. She'd never intervened. Brian hadn't come after her. Her colleagues—and especially Luka—hadn't seen her bloodied and bruised.  
  
She remembered all the nights she'd been woken up by her neighbors' screaming fights. She remembered the way her walls had shook as something was thrown at them from the other side. One time, a picture had almost been knocked off her wall by the force of the blow.  
  
But despite it all, despite her lingering doubts and fears, she couldn't regret helping Joyce once she'd seen the results of Brian's rages. The woman had been too frightened, too stubbornly determined to hang on to get help. She hadn't been ready, or willing, to see the truth for herself.  
  
Abby hoped that Joyce would stay in the shelter. She hoped the woman wouldn't give into her doubts and contact Brian. Abby had no doubt he would make Joyce pay for everything that had happened.  
  
She opened her eyes and saw Luka standing in front of her, holding out a steaming mug. "I'm not thirsty," she said quietly.  
  
"Take it anyway," he insisted. "You need something to warm you up. You're shivering."  
  
"I'm fine," she lied.  
  
He pressed the mug into her hands. "You're not fine, Abby. You're freezing, and you're hurt. Let me help you."  
  
"I'm not helpless," she said fiercely, taking a sip of the strong brew. She didn't want to admit how good the warmth felt. "No matter what my face looks like right now, I'm not helpless."  
  
For a moment she wondered if he was going to answer her. She felt his eyes on her, then looked up as he dipped his head and looked at his hands. Finally he sighed and said, "I think asking for help when you need it makes you strong, not weak."  
  
She took another sip. Normally Luka's coffee was far too strong for her taste, but she admitted now it was just what she needed. The warmth infused her, and the caffeine jolted life into her weary body. "I'm not saying I don't appreciate your help," she said. "I just don't want you to think this means I don't know how to take care of myself."  
  
"I know you can take care of yourself, Abby," Luka said quietly as he sat down beside her.  
  
But she wasn't finished. "And I don't want to hear about how I should have minded my own business, or how I shouldn't have gotten in the middle of things. All I was trying to do was help Joyce. Nobody else was doing anything."  
  
Luka sat next to her, his arm brushing hers. He saw the bruises on her face, and he remembered Joyce's battered face from earlier that day. No woman deserved that. "I think you did good for her," he said. "You got help for her when she needed it." He paused, taking a deep breath. Then his arm slid slowly around her shoulder. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, but she could feel his fingers flexing, wanting to grip her and pull her close. "I just hate seeing you like this."  
  
"I don't want pity," she said, ashamed her voice was starting to crack. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and she was terrified she was going to lose it. She wanted, needed to stay strong.  
  
Luka leaned his head down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I don't pity you," he whispered, closing his eyes and breathing in the soft scent of her shampoo. "You're the strongest person I know."  
  
A shudder ran through Abby's body. She took another sip of coffee, then set the mug on the table at the end of the couch. "I'm sorry," she whispered after several moments.  
  
"Abby, you have nothing to be sorry for."  
  
"You've gone out of your way to help me, and I'm acting like a bitch."  
  
"It's all right," he said. "I don't blame you."  
  
"Thank you for helping me," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her.  
  
They sat quietly for several minutes. Luka looked down to see her head resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed in sleep. Moving carefully so he didn't wake her, he slid his arm from around her and eased her down on the couch. He grabbed a blanket from his bedroom and draped it over her. He stood over the couch for several moments, watching her sleep. This was just the latest chapter in their tangled history together, but he wasn't going to screw things up this time. He would give her the space she needed to recover, but he wasn't going to leave her. He would keep at her until she was ready to talk to him, until she was ready to open up and let him back into her life.  
  
He would wait as long as it took, because she was worth it. 


	5. Mind Games

The Language of Madness Chapter 5: Mind Games  
  
Abby cradled the wine glass in her hand and took a sip. There was nothing wrong with having a glass of wine with her dinner. It didn't mean she was having a relapse. It didn't mean she wouldn't be able to stop. She wasn't preparing to go on a drunken rampage through the city. All it meant was that she'd had a really long day, and she wanted a glass of wine with her dinner. Nothing more earth-shattering than that.  
  
She buzzed the delivery guy up, but he wasn't the one who appeared at her door a moment later. It was Brian.  
  
She unlatched the door, because she had to in order to get her food. When she saw Brian walk into her apartment, she felt an inkling of dread. She didn't want him here. She wanted him to stay as far away from her as possible.  
  
"...I want my wife back," Brian was saying. "I want to make up for everything that's happened."  
  
"And how are you going to do that?" Abby asked. "Are you going to leave her barefoot and freezing on the stoop again? Are you going to beat the left side of her face so it matches the right?"  
  
"I made a mistake," Brian said as he set her food on the coffee table. "Everyone deserves to have a chance to make up for their mistakes."  
  
"What about all the other times you beat her? Are you going to make up for those, too?"  
  
"You know, she's no saint. She makes mistakes too. She hits me, too."  
  
"Tell me you're not blaming this on her." Abby shook her head in disgust. She set her wine glass down and picked up the phone. "I'm not going to listen to any more of this. If you don't leave right now I'm going to call the cops."  
  
Brian's eyes went cold and hard. He advanced until he had backed her against the wall. He grabbed the phone away from her and tossed it behind him. "You are not going to take my wife away from me."  
  
"Step back and get out of my apartment. Now." She tried to step around him, but he countered her move and kept her against the wall.  
  
"You're not a saint," he breathed, his face only inches from hers. "You're not..."  
  
"...You're not that pretty, you're not that special."  
  
Suddenly it wasn't Brian standing over her, but Luka. His eyes held the same angry, accusatory light they had on the street that night. Abby reeled from the change.  
  
"Luka? What are you doing here?"  
  
"You were always miserable. I don't know what I ever saw in you."  
  
Abby's heart plummeted in her chest. Why was Luka here? Why was he acting this way? They'd broken up months ago. They'd had time to adjust to being apart. He'd actually seemed happy to see her this afternoon. So why was he so angry now?  
  
"I don't understand what's happening," she said.  
  
"Come on, Abby," Luka said. "Stop playing games and grow up. You know this is your fault."  
  
"What's my fault? What are you talking about?"  
  
"You should have minded your own business. You should have let them work out their own problems."  
  
"I was trying to help Joyce," she said, her voice shaking a little. This wasn't the Luka she knew. He was starting to scare her. "Somebody needed to help her."  
  
"You stuck your nose where it didn't belong."  
  
"Luka, stop this. Why are you acting like this?"  
  
"You need to learn to mind your own business."  
  
Abby pushed her way past him. If he wouldn't stop this, she'd walk away. "Luka, I want you to leave." But when she turned back to face him, it was Brian glaring back at her.  
  
"I'm going to teach you not to butt into other people's business."  
  
Before she could react, his fist shot out, pain bursting behind her eye as he connected. She landed hard on the floor, crying out as she tried to scramble back. But her foot caught the hem of her silky robe and she slid back to the ground. Brian advanced on her, anger flaring deep in his eyes. He bent down and drew his fist again.  
  
Abby held her arm out in front of her. "No!"  
  
..........

Abby's eyes flew open. It was dark. She was alone. Brian wasn't there.  
  
She was in Luka's apartment, lying on his couch. She sat up slowly, pushing away the blanket he must have draped over her at some point. The last thing she remembered was sitting beside him, stubbornly insisting she wasn't helpless.  
  
She touched her hand to her eye but pulled it back when the pain registered. That part was real. It was a shame the whole day hadn't been a nightmare. She didn't want to think about Brian in her apartment, his fist coming at her. She didn't want to remember waking up on the floor, her nose broken and her face covered in blood. She'd been so terrified in those first moments, not sure if Brian was still there or not. She wanted it all to go away.  
  
She stood up and walked over to the window. Light filtered in from across the street and cast shadows over the sidewalks. The street was quiet and empty, as she supposed was normal for three in the morning.  
  
Her eyes darted back and forth. She told herself it was normal to imagine seeing movement in the shadows. She wasn't going crazy. It was simply a reaction to the stress she'd been under. Brian had assaulted her, and the police hadn't caught him yet. It was natural for her to worry about him coming after her.  
  
She shivered, turning away from the window. Brian couldn't be out there. He had no way of knowing where Luka lived, or that she was with him. And even if he was out there, she was safe. Luka's door was locked. Brian couldn't get in.  
  
She looked toward the back of the apartment, where Luka's bedroom was located. She hadn't spent much time here before they broke up, but she liked it. He'd purchased a big, comfortable bed that filled the center of his bedroom. She could picture him stretched out on the mattress, his head buried in the pillow. Right now, she envied him his sleep. She wanted nothing more than to be able to sleep, to forget for a few hours everything that had happened today.  
  
She took a step toward his bedroom, then shook her head and went back to the couch. She wasn't going to bother him. Just because she couldn't sleep didn't mean he shouldn't be able to.  
  
She lay back down and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Luka should be waking up in a few hours. All she had to do was make it until then. Once it was a decent hour, they could call the police and see if they'd been able to catch Brian during the night. She closed her eyes and tried to picture anything except Brian and the scene in her apartment.  
  
..........

She was in the bar again, the one she and Luka had gone to the night they broke up. She sat alone at the small table, tapping her fingers on the scarred wood and waiting for the waitress to bring her food. All she'd ordered was nachos and a Coke, but it was taking forever. She started to think about leaving. She wasn't sure why she'd come here in the first place. Maybe because she'd already had such a shitty day that she'd figured coming here and reliving her break-up with Luka would top it all off?  
  
She could feel the bar's other patrons glance at her occasionally. Her face wasn't a pretty sight. Her eye was swollen almost completely shut and it had darkened to a mix of deep red and purple in the hours since Brian had hit her. She wondered what they all thought of her. Did they think she'd gotten into an abusive relationship and been hit by her boyfriend? Or did they think maybe she was a hooker who'd been beaten by a john? And what did it matter what they thought, anyway?  
  
A glass of Coke was plunked down on her table. She looked up and saw Nicole looking down at her, a frown on her face. "What's wrong?" Abby asked.  
  
Nicole opened her mouth as if to answer, frowned a little harder, then finally said, "Your nachos are almost ready."  
  
Abby frowned and watched as she walked back across the bar toward the counter. That was strange. She'd never been friends with Nicole, but she didn't think she'd ever given her a reason to be rude.  
  
Nicole came back a moment later and dropped a tray of nachos onto the table in front of her. Abby rolled her eyes. "Okay, what's the problem?" she asked wearily.  
  
"You need to leave Luka alone."  
  
Abby almost choked on the sip of soda she'd just taken. "Excuse me?"  
  
"He deserves better than you. Stay away from him."  
  
"Okay, number one, my relationship with Luka is none of your business. And number two, it's been a really long day and I only came in here to get something to eat. Is it all right if I do that?"  
  
"You make Luka miserable," Nicole insisted. "I make him happy. I want you to leave him alone."  
  
The fuse on Abby's temper was running very short. "The only reason Luka was with you," she said tightly, "is because he felt sorry for you."  
  
"That's a lie. All you tell are lies. Luka loves me. We are going to be together."  
  
Abby looked down at the nachos and Coke and decided they weren't worth having to deal with this. She stood up and dug a five-dollar bill out of her coat pocket. "I hope all of the waitresses here are as friendly as you."  
  
"I'm moving to Montreal," Nicole said, "and I'm going to ask Luka to come with me."  
  
"Luka is not going to leave Chicago."  
  
Nicole folded her arms and raised her chin. "He will if I tell him I'm pregnant."  
  
Abby's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you so desperate for attention that you'd lie about that just to spend some time with him?"  
  
"Maybe I'm not lying. Maybe I am pregnant."  
  
"Not by Luka."  
  
"Does that matter?"  
  
"Yes. It does."  
  
"I deserve him," Nicole insisted stubbornly. "You don't. Leave him alone."  
  
Abby cast a short, disbelieving glance at her, then walked away without responding. She walked out of the bar and shivered when a gust of wind hit her. It was February in Chicago, and it was frigid. She hurried along the sidewalk. That was the most bizarre conversation she'd had in quite some time. It left a sour taste in her mouth. Nicole hadn't been in Luka's life for months, but there she was, working at the bar again and claiming that Luka loved her. Maybe Abby should have referred her to a psychiatrist.  
  
Suddenly she stopped walking. Was it her imagination, or had she heard footsteps behind her? She looked in every direction, but there was nobody on the street. She hugged her arms close to her body. Wait a minute. Over there. Was that a man hiding in the shadows beside that building across the street?  
  
Her heart suddenly pounding, she turned and hurried along the sidewalk. There was nobody behind her. Brian hadn't found her. He wasn't following her, looking for a chance to continue what he'd started back at her apartment. She was fine. She was safe. The El station was only a block away.  
  
When she turned around to check again, she saw a man several yards back. His head was down, so she couldn't see his face, but he looked like Brian. Not caring if she attracted attention, or maybe hoping she would, she ran flat-out for the El station. She tripped her way up the stairs, but the train hadn't pulled in yet. She looked up the track but couldn't see it. There were no other people on the track.  
  
She backed against the railing and folded her arms close to her body. That's when she heard footsteps on the stairs...  
  
..........

Abby woke up when she fell off the couch, banging her knee on the coffee table. "Damn it," she muttered, fighting her way free of the blanket. She planted her hand on the couch cushion and hoisted herself back up. She sat on the edge of the cushion and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. She was giving up on sleep. That's all there was to it. She wasn't going to take a chance on another haunting, bizarre dream. She didn't even dare to look out the window again for fear she'd see Brian looking up at her.  
  
She blew out a breath and lay back, staring at the ceiling. She could feel Luka's presence from clear out here in the living room. At least one of them was getting some decent sleep, she thought. He wasn't plagued by nightmares.  
  
She sat up and looked toward the back of the apartment. Her eye was starting to throb again. Maybe Luka had some Tylenol in his bathroom. She tossed the blanket away and quietly made her way to the bathroom. She glanced toward his bedroom but didn't knock on the door. She wasn't going to wake him up. She was just going to get some Tylenol, then go back to the couch.  
  
She opened the cupboard and saw the outlines of a few different bottles, but it was too dark to tell what any of them were. She grabbed one at random, but in the process accidentally knocked over two more. She grabbed for them and missed. They banged on the counter; one fell into the sink, the other dropped to the ground and rolled against the wall. Wincing, she bent down and picked them up.  
  
"Abby?"  
  
She looked up as Luka emerged from his bedroom, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm okay," she said. "I'm just looking for some Tylenol."  
  
Luka stepped into the bathroom and reached for a bottle still on the shelf. "Does your head hurt?"  
  
"My eye's throbbing a little, but I'm all right. Sorry I woke you up."  
  
"Don't worry about it. Are you sleeping okay?"  
  
She paused, trying to come up with an acceptable answer, but she couldn't find one. She sighed. Why should she lie to him anyway? He'd gone out of his way to help her tonight. He deserved the truth. "I keep waking up. Bad dreams."  
  
"Do you want to talk about them?" he asked as they both walked out of the bathroom. Abby popped open the bottle and shook out a couple of pills while Luka went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water.  
  
She thought of the dream where Luka had yelled at her. She shuddered. "No. I just want to forget them."  
  
She swallowed the pills, then set the glass on the counter. She looked up at him, but could only see the outline of his features in the dim light. She opened her mouth, but couldn't find the words to express what she was feeling, what she needed. She'd never been good at expressing her feelings. Luka though seemed to sense what she couldn't say. He reached out and gently pulled her into his arms. He didn't say anything, just rested his head on hers and held her. Eventually she sighed and wrapped her arms around his waist. This was just what she needed. Comfort, support, without judgment. She needed to be held by Luka, to know that he was here, that she was safe.  
  
The next time she woke up, she was again stretched out on the couch. But this time it was light outside, and her head was resting on Luka's chest. His arm was wrapped around her, holding her close. She smiled a little and closed her eyes again.


	6. Downward Spiral

Chapter Six: Downward Spiral  
  
Luka hung his coat in his locker and slammed the door shut. He wished he didn't have a shift today. He wanted to be home, to make sure Abby was going to be okay. She'd had a rough night last night, and he wanted to be sure she knew she had his support.  
  
He poured himself a cup of coffee, but put it down after only a sip. Whoever had made it obviously hadn't known what they were doing. He hoped this wasn't an indication of how the day was going to go.  
  
The day had started off better than he would have expected. He'd opened his eyes this morning to see Abby's sleeping face. The swelling around her eye had gone down overnight, but the angry red and purple bruises remained. He'd been overwhelmed by his need to protect her. He vowed to himself that no matter what it took, nobody was going to hurt her again.  
  
He slung his stethoscope around his neck as he left the lounge. He'd hated leaving Abby this morning. She'd seemed a little shy, a little embarrassed when she woke up, but she hadn't pulled away. It had been a long time since he'd felt as good as he had when he woke up with his arm around Abby. Even after breaking up, there was a closeness between them. He hadn't found that closeness with Carol before Abby had come along, and Nicole hadn't even come close. But he'd made a connection with Abby that wouldn't go away.  
  
Susan was on the phone when he walked over to the admit area and examined the board. There were only seven patients on the board. That was good. It would give him a chance to call the police and make sure Brian had been arrested.  
  
Susan put her hand over the phone. "Hey, Luka. Did you get ahold of Abby last night?"  
  
"Yes. I found her."  
  
"How is she?"  
  
"She's feeling better. She's going to stay home today and rest."  
  
"Home? Is she back at her apartment?"  
  
"No. She's...staying with a friend."  
  
"Did the police catch the guy who attacked her?"  
  
"I don't know. I'm going to call and find out."  
  
But at that moment a couple of paramedics pushed a gurney through the ambulance bay doors.  
  
"A little help here, please," one of them called.  
  
Luka glanced at the phone, then sighed as he walked around the counter. "What have you got?" he asked, forcing Brian from his mind. He was only able to do it because he knew Abby was safe inside his apartment.  
  
"We've got an auto versus pedestrian," the paramedic said. "Jennifer Norwood, 25. She was trying to cross the street when a car plowed around the corner and rammed her. Brief LOC at the scene, BP's a little high at 135 over 95..."  
  
Luka called Haleh and Chuny over to join him and directed everyone to Trauma Two. He ordered a battery of labs and x-rays and got started with his examination.  
  
"Jennifer, I'm Dr. Kovac," he said as he listened to her breathing, then examined a laceration on her forehead. "Can you tell me where you feel pain?"  
  
"Everywhere," she moaned. "That jerk came out of nowhere. He rammed into me and drove away."  
  
"How long were you unconscious?"  
  
"Only a couple minutes, I think. When he hit me I fell on my side and my head bounced off the ground. Please, can you give me something for the pain?"  
  
"Let's give her ten of morphine," Luka said to Haleh.  
  
"CT's backed up," Chuny said. "They won't be able to take her for twenty minutes."  
  
"Okay. Let's get the portable x-ray in here. I think her shoulder may be broken."  
  
Chuny nodded and turned away as the trauma room doors opened and a uniformed cop walked in. "I'm Officer Martinez," he said as he approached the gurney. "Can you describe the man who hit you?"  
  
"I only saw him for a second," Jennifer said.  
  
"That's okay. Anything you can tell us will help."  
  
"He was white," she said with a frown. "He had dark hair. I don't think he was very old. Thirty, maybe."  
  
"That's good," Officer Martinez said as he jotted the description down. "Did you get a look at the car he was driving?"  
  
"It was dark blue I think, but I don't know what kind."  
  
"Don't worry about it. We've got a couple witnesses at the scene. They might be able to give us a more detailed description. I'll stop by later in case you remember anything else."  
  
Luka followed the cop out of the trauma room. "Officer, could you do a favor for me?"  
  
"What do you need?"  
  
"Yesterday I treated a woman who was beaten by her husband, and a few hours later he assaulted a member of our staff. I want to make sure he was arrested."  
  
"What's this guy's name?"  
  
"Brian Westlake."  
  
Officer Martinez wrote the name down. "I'll call the station and check."  
  
"Thanks. You can use the phone at the desk."  
  
Luka turned and went back into the trauma room. The portable x-ray machine was brought in, and he confirmed that Jennifer did indeed have a fractured clavicle. He reached up to pull the x-ray down when Officer Martinez came back.  
  
"Hey, Doc."  
  
Luka walked over to where he was waiting by the door.  
  
"The desk sergeant said they haven't found the guy yet, but we have his description. Is this him?"  
  
Luka accepted the sheet of paper the officer held out. It was a wanted poster that detailed Brian's vital statistics and known locations. The picture printed on the page had probably come from his driver's license. "Yeah. That's him."  
  
"All of the squad cars have these, so if anyone spots him we'll pick him up."  
  
Luka swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He was going to have to call and tell Abby that Brian was still out there. He was going to have to prolong her worry. "Thanks," he said woodenly, then went back into the trauma room to do his job.  
  
..........  
  
Abby sat down at Luka's table and swallowed a couple more Tylenol. She knew Luka would prescribe something stronger if she asked him, but the last thing she needed was something else she could get addicted to.  
  
She hadn't told anybody that she'd started drinking again. Not that she was going out and getting drunk; she just had a beer every now and then. It wasn't a big deal. It had been an exceptionally bad way when she first decided to take a drink. She'd waited her entire shift for someone to remember that it was her birthday, but no one had. Not even Luka. Then Richard had chosen that day to tell her he was getting married again. It had capped off a day begun by overhearing another Brian and Joyce shouting match, and it hadn't seemed like a big deal to continue having a beer once in a while after that.  
  
She rinsed her water glass and stood at the sink, wondering what to do next. Usually when she had a day off she could run errands or do the laundry, but not today. She and Luka both thought it was best if she stayed inside until they made sure Brian had been arrested. There was no telling what could happen if Brian found her again.  
  
With a slight shiver, she sat down on the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table. She grabbed her coat and pulled a scrap of paper out of the pocket. Before she'd left the hospital last night she'd scribbled down the number of the shelter Joyce was staying at. It would probably be a good idea to call again and make sure Joyce had made it through the night without any problems.  
  
Her eyes were drifting shut when a female voice answered the phone. Abby sat up straight and said, "Yeah, hi. This is Abby Lockhart from County General. I treated a woman who checked into your center last night, and I wanted to talk to her, make sure she's okay."  
  
"What's the woman's name?"  
  
"Joyce Westlake."  
  
"Hold on just a moment. I'll find her, see if she wants to talk to you."  
  
Abby drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch as the woman clicked off and elevator music took her place. She could use some good news. She wanted to know something good had come out of this whole mess.  
  
She stood up and walked over to the window. There were no shadows in the daylight. There was no one hiding beside the building. There probably hadn't been last night, either.  
  
"Miss Lockhart?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm here," she said as she turned away from the window.  
  
"I'm sorry, but Miss Westlake isn't here."  
  
Abby froze on her way back to the couch. "Not there?" she repeated, disbelief clear in her voice. "What do you mean, she's not there?"  
  
"Miss Westlake's counselor just told me that she left early this morning."  
  
Abby sunk down on the couch and dragged her hand through her hair. "Could I, uh...could I talk to this counselor for a minute?"  
  
"Sure. Hold on."  
  
Abby tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't really true. There had been some mistake, that's all. Joyce wasn't gone. She hadn't left.  
  
"Miss Lockhart? This is Christine James. I'm a counselor here. What can I do for you?"  
  
"I'm trying to find out what happened to Joyce Westlake. She checked in there last night."  
  
"Yes, she did. I spoke with her shortly after she checked in."  
  
"Okay, so where is she now? The first lady I talked to said she wasn't there."  
  
"I'm afraid she checked out early this morning. She thanked us for the bed, but said she didn't belong there."  
  
Abby stood back up and started pacing. Her head was starting to throb; she hoped the Tylenol kicked in soon. "Why didn't you convince her to stay?" she asked.  
  
"I understand your frustration, but there's only so much we can do. This isn't a prison."  
  
"No, you don't understand. Joyce is my neighbor, and I listen to her fight with her husband almost every day. Yesterday afternoon she called and told me she was locked out of the building. I found her bloody and barefoot on the front stoop. And a couple hours after she checked into the shelter, her husband assaulted me. It is not safe for her to be out on the street."  
  
"I'm sorry. If you find her, tell her she's welcome here and that she'll be safe. But I'm afraid I don't know where she went."  
  
Abby went back to the window and stared out. "Thanks for your help," she said quietly, then disconnected. For long moments she stood, staring at nothing, worry gnawing at her gut. Apparently Joyce hadn't been as ready to get help as Abby had hoped. She was almost sure that once she left the shelter, Joyce would have gone looking for Brian. To make up, she would assume. But Abby was terrified that Brian wouldn't see things the same way.  
  
After some time, Abby turned the phone back on and dialed the hospital.  
  
..........  
  
Luka walked over to the admit desk and stuck Jennifer's chart in the rack. In addition to the broken clavicle, she'd suffered a broken left femur and had numerous cuts and abrasions. He'd been too busy taking care of her to call Abby and tell her the bad news about Brian.  
  
The phone rang and was answered by a newly-recovered but still grumpy Frank. "Hey, Kovac," he said after listening for a moment, then hanging the phone up. "There's a personal call for you on line two."  
  
Luka glanced over at him. The call had to be from Abby. He never got personal calls while he was at the hospital. "I'll take it in the lounge," he said.  
  
A moment later the lounge door swung shut behind him. He picked up the phone and pressed a blinking button. "This is Kovac."  
  
"Luka, it's me," Abby said.  
  
"Abby. Is everything all right?"  
  
"No, everything's not all right. Joyce left the shelter."  
  
Luka leaned against the door. "She left?"  
  
"She told the counselor she didn't belong there, and she left early this morning." There was a pause, and Luka could hear Abby blow out a deep breath. "Luka, please tell me you talked to the police, and that they arrested Brian."  
  
"I wish I could, Abby. But I talked to a police officer a while ago and he said they haven't found him yet."  
  
"She went back to him," Abby muttered. "I thought I got through to her, but she went back to him."  
  
"Listen, the police are going to find him."  
  
"Yeah, but will it be too late?"  
  
Luka rubbed at his eyes. He wished there was something he could do for her, but it was up to the police to find Brian. It wasn't as if he could go roam the streets and find the man himself. "I got Dr. Chen to cover the last half of my shift," he said finally. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, and we'll call the police again and see if they've found him. I don't know what else we can do."  
  
"I know you're right," Abby said tiredly. "I'm just scared for her. She doesn't deserve this. He's going to beat the crap out of her again, or worse."  
  
Luka didn't have a response to that. "I'll be home in a couple of hours," he repeated. "We'll figure everything out then."  
  
After he hung up the phone, Luka slumped down on the couch and stared at the wall. He wanted, needed, to be home with Abby. She was obviously worried about Joyce, but it was hard to offer comfort over the phone. He looked up at the clock on the wall, but only a couple of minutes had passed since the last time he'd checked.  
  
An hour later he put the finishing touches on a cast for a teenage boy who'd fallen off his skateboard. Chen should be here in another hour, he thought. Maybe until then he could hide out in the suture room with some charts. That way he wouldn't get sucked into any more complicated cases that would delay his departure.  
  
He gathered a dozen charts and headed down the hall, but a voice stopped him. He turned around and saw Susan waving at him from the admit desk. Reluctantly he approached her. "There's a trauma coming in. An assault victim in bad shape. Can you take it? I'm swamped."  
  
Luka sighed and dropped the charts on the desk. "Sure."  
  
He grabbed some fresh gloves and went out in the ambulance bay. He heard the sirens coming from a distance, and it was eerily similar to last night, when he'd stood in almost the same spot, waiting for Abby's ambulance to arrive. Thank God she was safe now, he thought.  
  
The ambulance pulled up and the back doors opened. Doris Pickman climbed out and helped unload the gurney. "Assault victim, female, probably late twenties, but it's hard to tell. She's been beaten pretty bad. Multiple contusions and abrasions, a couple broken ribs, possibly a collapsed lung. She's having trouble breathing. We intubated in the field. Her blood pressure's low..."  
  
Luka looked down at the unconscious woman lying still on the gurney. His heart plummeted. Doris was right; it was hard to guess the woman's age. Her face was a mass of bruises and blood. But Luka had seen her before. He knew her age, and he knew her identity.  
  
It was Joyce. 


	7. Adrift

Chapter Seven: Adrift  
  
Abby sank down on the couch and rubbed her forehead. Brian hadn't been caught. Joyce had left the shelter. There was a glaringly obvious conclusion to draw.  
  
She picked up the phone again and dialed the police department. She didn't even need to look up the number; unfortunately, she'd had to report far too many domestic violence incidents.  
  
When the line was answered she said, "Yes. I'm a nurse at County General, and yesterday I called you guys to report a domestic violence incident. We got the woman into a shelter, but I found out a few minutes ago that she left the shelter this morning, and that her husband hasn't been caught yet."  
  
"Do you have proof that another crime has been committed?"  
  
"No. I only found this out a few minutes ago."  
  
"I'm sorry, but there's not much more we can do without more information."  
  
Abby squeezed her eyes shut. She was tired of listening to the party line. She was tired of people not doing whatever they could. Susan had oh-so- gently blamed her for coming between Brian and Joyce and getting herself assaulted. The counselor at the shelter hadn't tried very hard to keep Joyce there. And now the police...  
  
"Look, I think that she's going to go back to him, and when she does, he'd going to make her pay for leaving him. There's already a warrant out for his arrest. Can't you just go by their apartment, see if he's there? Or if she is? Make sure everything's okay?"  
  
The urgency in Abby's voice must have finally gotten through. "All right. I'll find out which officers responded to yesterday's incident and send them over to the apartment. What's the address?"  
  
Abby gave it to him, then added, "Thank you."  
  
"We're here to protect and serve, Ma'am," he murmured, a slight touch of sarcasm in his voice.  
  
Abby listened to the faint sound of computer keys clicking. She didn't care if he thought she was overreacting, or crazy. She just wanted to make sure Joyce was okay.  
  
The man came back on the line. "It looks like there was a call to this address about twenty minutes ago."  
  
Abby's heart dropped. "What?" Her vision went a little wavy, so she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. After a deep breath she said, "Was the call to the Westlake apartment?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am. A neighbor reported a female assault victim. An ambulance was dispatched...."  
  
Abby stopped listening. She dropped the phone on the couch and stepped into her shoes. Her hand was on the doorknob when she stopped. Brian was still out there. She didn't want to take the El and leave herself exposed. But she couldn't just sit back and wait. Not to mention the fact that she had no money.  
  
She looked back into the apartment. Resting on top of a stack of unopened mail on a side table was a ten-dollar bill. Without thinking, she grabbed it and shoved it in her pocket. She made a quick call to a cab company, then rushed out of the apartment.  
  
..........  
  
Carter watched the elevator doors slide shut behind Luka, then turned away. Something was going on with him. Luka had always been a brooding, intense sort of person, but during that trauma he'd seemed more worked up than he usually got. Normally calm and focused in the trauma room, he'd run around shouting orders and contradicting everyone else's ideas. Carter had almost asked if Luka wanted the patient all to himself.  
  
He walked over to the admit desk and leaned back against it.  
  
"Everything all right?" Susan asked from beside him.  
  
"Fine. I'd like to know what's got Luka so worked up, though."  
  
"He's probably just worked up about Abby."  
  
"She's okay though, right? I mean, how bad was she really?"  
  
Susan shook her head. "She had some bruises, a broken nose and a nasty black eye. She lost consciousness when she hit the ground, so she probably has a mild concussion."  
  
"I wish I could have been here to help her last night."  
  
"I don't think she wanted a lot of people around."  
  
"Well, maybe I'll call her, see how she's doing. Where is she staying?"  
  
"I don't know. I haven't talked to her. You can ask Luka; he said he talked to her."  
  
"Great," Carter muttered under his breath as he turned away. Luka-in his current mood-was not someone he wanted to talk to. Especially about Abby. That conversation was bound to be awkward. When it came to Abby, he and Luka never seemed to see eye to eye.  
  
"Hey, Carter."  
  
He turned back to Susan, who nodded toward the ambulance bay. He looked over and watched Abby rush inside. He was around the desk in an instant. "Abby? What are you doing here? Are you okay?"  
  
"Hi, Carter. I'm fine. I'm looking for a patient."  
  
"Shouldn't you be resting?"  
  
"I rested last night. Did Joyce Westlake come in here?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Assault victim, late twenties, short red hair..."  
  
Carter frowned. "Yeah, she was here. Luka just took her up to surgery."  
  
"Surgery." Carter watched Abby's face go white. "Oh, God." She turned away and fast-walked over to the elevators. She pressed the up button and folded her arms, tapping her foot as she waited for the doors to open. A moment later she stepped inside the elevator car. Her eyes met his briefly, but they slid away as the doors closed between them.  
  
..........  
  
Abby stared at the doors of the elevator as she rose to the surgical floor. She should have done something more. She should have called Joyce again last night. She should have at least called her first thing this morning; instead, she'd waited a couple of hours, and by then it had been too late.  
  
She finger-combed her hair down over her eye before she stepped into the hall on the quiet surgical floor. Up here there was none of the loud- mouthed chaos that often defined the ER. She was glad for the quiet; she wasn't sure how much more chaos she could take before she snapped. Fear and guilt were waging a war inside of her, and the fight was exhausting her.  
  
She turned a corner and saw Luka standing at the doors leading to the operating rooms. His hands were on his hips, and his head dipped toward the ground. She could feel the frustration rolling off of him. She knew he'd be blaming himself for this too.  
  
For a moment she simply stood there, watching him. They'd broken up months ago. She wasn't supposed to have feelings for him any more. But there was a connection between them that all of their fights, all of their confusion and distrust and anger hadn't destroyed. She knew that he was taking Joyce's injuries personally, just like she was. And she knew that he was taking her injuries personally. Last night in the exam room, as she'd sat there on that gurney, splattered with blood and vulnerable in her silky robe, she'd known exactly how he was feeling. She'd seen it in the tense muscles of his shoulders; she'd read it in his eyes.  
  
He'd tried to hide his anger, but he couldn't hide everything. Not from her. She'd known that he was furious that she'd been hurt, and frustrated that there wasn't more he could do for her. She wondered if he realized just how much he had done for her.  
  
She approached him slowly. "Luka?"  
  
He turned around, his brows knitting when he saw her standing there. "Abby? What are you doing here?"  
  
"How bad is she?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment, then rested a hand on her shoulder and guided her into a nearby waiting room. The only other occupant was an old man loudly snoring in the corner. He nudged her down onto a couch and sat beside her. He didn't have to ask who she meant. "How did you know she was here?"  
  
Abby shrugged. "After I called you, I called the shelter to talk to Joyce, but they said she left early this morning. Then I called and convinced the police to send a squad car over to the apartment to see if anyone was there, but I was too late. The officer I talked to said a car had been dispatched twenty minutes ago, and that Joyce had been assaulted."  
  
"You should have called me," he said gently. "Until Brian is caught, it's not safe for you to be out there alone."  
  
"I know. But I had to see for myself if she was okay. And anyway, I didn't take the El, I took a cab." She leaned back and closed her eyes when she felt tears threatening. She knew Luka was right, but she hated having the fact that she could be in danger drilled into her again. It only made her feel more scared, more vulnerable, and those were not things she wanted to feel. "By the way, I stole ten dollars from you," she murmured. "I'll pay you back when I get my wallet back."  
  
"What?"  
  
She stared up at the ceiling. "I didn't have any money to pay for cab fare, but I saw a ten-dollar bill on a stack of mail in your apartment." She turned her head and looked over at him. "I had to see for myself," she said quietly.  
  
Luka sighed. "I know." He put his arm around her and drew her against his shoulder.  
  
"So how bad is she?"  
  
"She has some bruises and abrasions, a couple of broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a liver laceration."  
  
"So basically he beat the hell out of her as revenge for leaving him."  
  
"This isn't your fault, Abby. You did everything you could for her."  
  
"I should have called her again. I should have called back last night to make sure she was settled."  
  
"You had yourself to worry about last night. Nobody can blame you for not calling her."  
  
"I was on the phone with her when Brian showed up. I told her I'd call her back, but I completely forgot until this morning."  
  
He tipped her chin up so her eyes met his. "This is not your fault," he repeated.  
  
"Intellectually I know that," she said after a long silence. "But it's just hard not to feel responsible."  
  
"What more could you have done?" he asked.  
  
She looked at him for a moment, then dropped her head on his shoulder. "I don't know."  
  
They sat there like that, Luka's arm around her, his thumb drawing absent patterns on her arm, as the moments clicked by. The old man's snoring and the muted sounds of doctors and nurses walking the halls were the only sounds as they waited for word on Joyce. Nearly two hours later, their answer came. 


End file.
